August 19th

in the dusk half light

ghost moths flutter like wishes

as yet unfulfilled

July 12th

 

furnaces belching

ghost trees stand in factories

watch their bodies burn

I visited the British Library after work, conveniently it’s pretty much next door to the gothic beauty of St Pancras station, where I get my train home.

The current exhibition Writing Britain, Wastelands to Wonderlands is well worth a visit. The curators have selected some absolute treasures of the British Library collection from the genius of British and Irish writing. it celebrates the land through the beauty of the words written in honour (or more rarely, in spite) of it.

It’s inspiring and almost overwhelming, the complete list of works is available here. It’s a powerful testament to this land.

My Haiku quotes a tiny element of a longer poem I’ve written on my other blog. It humbly references one of the themes of the exhibition, the loss of green places to the spread of industrialisation.

The British library’s promotional vid/intro to exhibition

June 28th

shadow witches perched

unblinking at the window

ragnailed and swaying

I walked into the spare bedroom in the dark the other day, before I switched on the light, I had a flashback of childhood. On windy nights, when the curtains were open, even by a tiny crack, I used to scare myself looking at the shadows of the trees breaking between the curtains, splayed on the wall. I imagined witches were out there, squatting in the trees, silently waiting for me, their long slender fingers exploring the insides of the room via their cast shadow.

And then of course I stupidly watched Salem’s Lot at one point, the Stephen King TV adaptation. Of course that was it then, it was floating vampires tapping at the window *and* tree witches from that point forward. Oh, and ghosts walking through the walls (sometimes just the dismembered floating drooling head of a ghost hovering above me) and a werewolf under the bed / in the wardrobe.

But it was all ok, as the rules were if you hid under the covers, they couldn’t touch you. Beds and blankets are the greatest ward against the supernatural. Not garlic, not silver, not holy water. A bed, with a sheet to pull over your head. Foils them every time.

Stills from Salem’s Lot below. This scene was pretty chilling. Even watching it today, this otherwise unremarkable TV horror has some great suspense and frightening moments. And David Soul is in it.

When a vampire floats up to your bedroom window and starts tapping and scratching at it, imploring you to let him in, do not, I repeat, do not invite him in. Without an invite, he’ll have to stay outside, getting bored. Just stay in bed. And pull the sheet over your head so you don’t meet his gaze, or he’ll try and beguile you to do his bidding.

Dude, what did I just say? He’s gonna mess you up now!

February 3rd

 

Disembodied head,

Eyes tight shut, I know he’s there,

Waiting by my bed.

 

There was a book club at my junior school. It was a special treat getting a book. Books were luxuries, I had the library of course, but I didn’t have many books of my own, which is why I cherished those I owned, comics (I got one a week) or otherwise. So I was absolutely delighted when I got one of the Usborne Pocketbooks, Supernatural guides. It was the “Haunted Houses, Ghosts and Spectres” one.

The artwork still has quite an impact for me, it smacks me in the chest with that thrill of fear I used to feel as an 8 year old. I used to be scared of the dark, one particular image stuck with me. It was of a blue disembodied head which haunted someone in an old country house. I used to hide under the covers (a classic ward against evil) terrified to peek, eyes shut fast, thinking if I opened my eyes and looked upwards, he would be there, looking down on me, silent, judgemental, evil, his mouth slowly opening and closing with no sound coming out. My imagination was rampant. I felt if I looked at him, he would literally scare me to death, by floating towards my face, till he was only inches away from me and then enter my face and possess me. I was that scared. Interestingly, the artist must’ve used an image of old horror actor Lon Chaney Jr to base his work on, when he played the phantom of the opera. Years later I saw the image of the Phantom and instantly thought “that’s my ghost!”, I’d forgotten about the book by then. So I went back to my old bedroom at my mums house then and retrieved it.

I still have the book, I’ll never throw it away. It’s beautiful, the artwork is amazing, it makes me feel happy and sad. Sometimes it’s nice to feel like you’re little again. South Harringay infants and junior school, aged 5 to 10 were wonderful times. I was so happy there.

January 11th

Popped into the British Library on the way home. I feel proud that we have such an institution. With an aspiration to collect all of the books ever published, much like the great Library at Alexandria, one of the ancient wonders of the world, before it was razed.

As it’s right near St Pancras station, I sometimes dwell there while I’m waiting for my train home. Enjoy tea and cake whilst making use of the free wi-fi, catching up on work or creative writing. Mostly, I mooch around the exhibits. It’s just incredible. I’ll probably write a proper blog about it someday. At the moment, there is a an temporary exhibition on Charles Dickens. The permanent exhibition “The Treasures” is also astonishing, with the collection rotated every now and then to see more great works or hand written drafts by the authors themselves. And the books are stacked high, mighty towers of books in secure glass, shelves upon shelves, visible from pretty much every part of the central atrium.

There is a copy of the Magna Carta there too. Incredible. This is an artefact that defines our country. Where King John was forced into concessions, where the rule of one was challenged, where human rights were asserted. This clause, the most famous, is still law today (from 1215).

“No free man shall be seized or imprisoned, or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled . nor will we proceed with force against him . except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land. To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice”

Right, the Haiku!

 

Visitations, Ghosts,

Fragile firsts, frayed, dulled, precious,

Dragon scales tower.

 

A copy of “The Cock Lane Ghost” which forms part of the Dickens Exhibition (hastily photographed as I wasn’t sure whether it was allowed or not, there’s definitely no photography in the “Treasures” area and definitely no flash photography anywhere). It refers to a widely reported ghost story in the 18th Century. Dickens was fond of “real” ghost stories (and this one in particular) but was a bit of a sceptic himself. That didn’t stop him using supernatural themes throughout his work.